


The Book Samael and Din

by Tintentrinkerin



Series: The Boyking and his Knight [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Don't Like Don't Read, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, MURDERBROS, Prince of Hell | Yellow-Eyed Demon Sam Winchester, Revolution of Hell, Sam Winchester Drinks Demon Blood From Dean Winchester, Seriously this fic is fucked up and if you can't handle it don't read it, Versatile!Winchesters, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tintentrinkerin/pseuds/Tintentrinkerin
Summary: Now that Sam is gaining strength and with a Knight of Hell by his side, what keeps him from reigning Hell?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: The Boyking and his Knight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198523
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	The Book Samael and Din

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mifu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mifu/gifts).



Samael  סמאל [ The Leader of Temptation; the Leader of the Rebelling Angels] & Din דין [Law/Justice]

_ mutspelli cuniit  _

_ an thiustrea naht, al so thiof ferid  _

_ darno mid is dadiun _

“Muspilli (the End of the World / Muspelheim) will come

in the dark night like a thief

with his secret deeds”

(Heliand, 9th Century)

  
  
  


**1.0 Josephine**

uue demoin uinstri scal  sino uirina stuen,

prinnan in pehhe: daz ist reht paluuic dink,

daz der man haret ze gote  enti imo hila ni quimit.

woe betide them who has to burn 

in the darkness in the [hell]fire: it’s a very bad thing 

when Man prays unto God and help doesn’t come.

(Muspilli, 9th Century)

  
  


It’s a beautiful sunset Josy, short for Josephine, is witnessing. 

It’s also a peaceful evening, the air has gone chill, but she likes the pink and dark blue colour the sky has when the sun sets and leaves for the night. It’s usually the last moments of peace in this household. Josy is eight years old, but she has seen a lot already and the only thing that makes her happy is the sunsets. She sits on the swing her big brother Jonathan put up against the will of Father. Father is no man who likes his kids to have something nice or for themselves. And Josy is alone, none of her sisters nor her big brother accompanies her today. They’re already inside, hiding in their rooms or like Jonathan, trying to entertain Father and mommy enough to prolong the inevitable. The swing is swaying softly when Josy rocks back and forth, back and forth, silently praying like she did for years. Every evening she prays. 

Dear God, please let Father drop dead. Make him disappear. Make Father go away. 

Or; let mommy get up, let mommy finally get up and call out for help. 

Josy is good at praying, she knows her words by heart and she does it every evening before Father comes home, and yells for her to get inside. And every evening she feels, the time between sunset and Father coming home is falling shorter and shorter and she has to hurry with her prayer. Maybe this time God and his angels will finally hear her. 

She tries not to be mad at God for ignoring her for so long. She’s been praying since her twin sister died in an accident. Father didn’t call the hospital, Father did nothing. He threw her in the trash can and wanted to burn her, but Jonathan managed to carry Josy’s sister away and bury her in the garden. Close to the swing. But for that to work, they had to cover up whose grave it was and Jonathan killed one of the family dogs, burnt it instead of his baby sister, put a cross on the grave with the name of the dog, “Riot”. Sometimes Josy feels bad that Jonathan killed Riot so that they could bury her sister, but she also feels good. Her sister is here with her, with all of them, silently and peacefully lying in the grave, company to the insects and roots in the earth. She’s away from Father, but also close. It’s a silent victory over him, taking away the body he wanted to burn. Make her vanish. As if she never existed.

There’s two swings and when Josy breathes out in the chill evening air, the sky deep purple now, there’s a man beside her. Swinging softly, looking in the sky. Overlooking the land of Father, a land he owns. Acres of woodland, where you could get lost, but Josy looks at the sky and focuses on the sun as long as she can until it hides behind the treetops. 

The man says nothing, but Josy looks at him now, the sun is forgotten. He’s huge, long brown hair and strong hands holding on the strings. She doesn’t fear him as for she fears all other men but Jonathan. And him.

“I heard you pray”, the man says and looks at Josy. 

In the fading twilight she has trouble seeing all the features of his face but she knows the likes his dimples. 

“Did you? Are you God?”, she asks.

The man’s hazel eyes glow golden all of a sudden. It’s warm and wavering, luring her in and she can’t stop looking. She tilts her head. 

“I’m certainly not God”, the man says, “you can call me Sam.”

“Like Samuel? In the Bible?”

The man laughs. It sounds like rustling leaves. 

“Yes, that’s my full name. But I prefer Sam.”

“Samuel means you are ‘heard by God’.. are you his Angel?”

“Also not that”, Samuel says. “I’m pretty sure God never heard or favored me. Or you. But I heard you. Do you want me to help you?”

Josy is struck for a moment. Someone heard her prayers and everything could become real now. All her hopes. She prayed for so many things in the past, but the main prayer always was, make Father disappear.

“Can you make Father disappear?”

Samuel nods. “Yes I can. But, you have to promise me one thing, before me and my brother will make him go away, okay?”

“Anything”, Josy vows.

“You and your sisters, you must tell anyone we were here. Tell them we came at night and you, your sisters, Jonathan, you heard nothing. Okay? You were all fast asleep. I will make all of you asleep and when you wake up tomorrow, Father is gone. I promise.”

Josephine starts crying silently. She learned to cry silently, scream for help silently, endure silently. 

“I promise. I never saw you.”

“Good.” 

Sam stands up and he really is huge. Josy looks up at him in awe and in the coming darkness she imagines, he has wings. He is truly an Angel, no matter what he says.

“And another thing. You will be free. You understand? Josy is dead. You and Jonathan buried Josy. You can stop pretending. He can’t force you anymore, Jacob. You will be free.”

These are the words that make Josephine break down in tears and she hugs the Angel’s waist, who just puts a hand on her long, dirty blonde hair. 

“It’s okay, Jacob. It’s okay. Everything will be fine.”

And then Samuel, the Angel of Not-God puts Jacob up, he weighs nothing, he’s malnourished and beaten black and blue - and he carries the boy inside. They pass Josephine’s grave and Jacob tries to let go, say goodbye.

But it won’t be that easy. Josephine won’t go away on her own. But Jacob can’t know that now and he will understand what happened to him for six years when he and his sisters will be taken to the hospital to document the abuse. The counseling. Maybe they’ll never recover.

The world turns black the moment Samuel carries the boy over the porch.

*

Father, real name Joseph Spit, comes home around 7pm when the sun is set, like every day. He’s been around his work, early shifts at the local factory until 2pm and then he spent his afternoon with his drinking buddies at the local pub, The Messenger. He’s a regular there, like the rest of the pathetic losers, how Dean likes to call them. Because that’s what they are. And his new demonic self lets him see so much clearer about what people are made of. Carbon and water, air, yes, but also the depths of their souls. Since him and Sam hunted these hillbillies who killed people for sports he knew that demons weren’t the real problem. It was the human nature itself that was not only flawed, it was downright rotten. Dean could see their rotten souls, he misses the knives and pliers, the needles, the flames, the torture he inflicted in Hell but as soon as Sam and him would reign Hell, he would be doing that all day long. Punish everyone who deserved to be punished. People like Joseph fucking Spit. Dean can cover himself up, when he was out having fun with Crowley he didn’t keep his profile as low as now, but he can’t be seen. They can’t face Crowley right now. Sam has a mightier need than be King of Hell. What he deserves to be. Born to be. No one in The Messenger will ever remember Dean was there, sitting between the drunk losers, nipping on whiskey and even talking to some. New faces are highlights in rural areas like this. Nothing else happens here that provokes people’s interests. If they’d only take closer looks at the people they lived with and saw the monsters underneath the flesh suits. And would do justice. Justice that now Sam took in his hands. 

When Joseph Spit leaves The Messenger, Dean gets up and follows him at a safe distance. The bartender didn’t even notice he didn’t pay. She was too busy keeping the hands of her boss off her butt. Maybe Dean would break his neck if Sam lets him after they’ve taken care of Joseph Spit. He’s drunk, but he walks steadily, like every alcoholic does. No one would guess how much this man drank in four hours. 

Five kids at home, a wife and instead of taking care of his family he spent all the money he got on booze. For Dean, a family man, this was worse than most other things. At the Spit home, it has dawned already and Dean senses Sam inside the house. He senses the kids, the wife, he senses Jonathan. Jonathan, damn Jonathan who reminds Dean of himself. 

It will be such a pain in the ass to kill him too. But instead of stopping Spit, he only distracted him. He was as guilty as his father. 

Spit is surprised to see this young man in his house, sitting in his armchair in front of the TV. Golden eyes, with a grin on his face.

“What’cha doin’ in my house? Where’s Phyllis?”

“Phyllis is asleep. So is everyone else.”

“Get the fuck outta my house! Now! Or I’ll beat the shit outta you!”

“Like you did with Phyllis all these years? Jacob? Nora, Lucy, Erin?”

Sam gets up from his chair and reveals his height and as the Boyking, son of Azazel, he even seems bigger. He knows he’s scaring the man. Good. He will die scared and broken, as he deserves to be. 

“What have you done to them?”, Joseph hisses, but he backs off when Sam approaches him. In the hall he crashes into Dean, who came into the house just right after him. 

Sam smiles, his eyes shining, hands working, veins showing. He won’t even lay a finger on this bag of filthy meat, he knows Dean will do it. 

“We save them”, Sam says firmly. “We save them from you.”

Dean’s arms grab around Joseph’s chest. Of course, the fucker starts screaming for help. 

“Shhhh”, Sam coos and not a single sound will ever leave Joseph’s mouth again until Sam lifts the magic he’s weaving. 

“Oh, thank you, I can’t bear another word from this shit stain.”

“I know, love”, Sam sighs, “Bring him outside. The woodchipper is about a mile outside in the woods. I had to get it working again.”

When Joseph hears the word wood chipper and it dawns to him what these two psychopaths will do to him, he wets himself.

“Sammy”, Dean complains, “he pissed on me. Please let’s make it quick. He stinks.”

Sam nods. Turns his nose up.

“The whole house reeks of him. And fear.”

It’s easy to drag Joseph out to the yard, Sam passes Josephine’s grave again, the swing and the Boyking and his consort, his Avenging Angel, disappear in the woods with Joseph Spit. He can’t stand a chance. Dean shortly fights with Sam if he can just torture him for a bit, but Sam presses on the time. It’s nasty, putting a person, a living person in a woodchipper. It’s not the first time they saw it, but really doing it themselves is so much messier. Dean’s blade is greedy for blood, they have to feed it, but Dean doesn’t kill Spit with the Blade, oh no, he just cuts him up enough until the rage in his veins stops, his eyes turn black and he howls at the moon, a full moon tonight. Sam doesn’t drink human blood, but his thirst for Dean grows, it makes him raging and god damn, it turns him on how Dean handles Joseph Spit, cuts him and then, feet forward, forces him down the running machine. The air around them stinks of his fear, piss, blood and his warm and silky intestines that get mashed and cut to pieces. Sam and Dean both feed on this fear, they feed on their righteousness. They’re purging the earth from filth like Joseph Spit. 

Not monsters are the plague of this realm. It’s the people.

Joseph Spit deserved this way to day, and deserved to die unheard by anyone or anything. He dies silently and painfully. Dean has to push him through the machine, it’s really damn messy. In the end Dean is covered in his blood, his black eyes burn in Sam’s skin and when Sam sinks his talons deep in Dean’s neck to suck him they feel the energy of raw life, of the pulsating and breathing earth flow. 

They’re covered in blood and bits of Joseph’s body when they head back and Dean begs Sam to kill Jonathan. Sam wants to kill Phyllis. But Phyllis is far gone already, caught so deep in the abuse of pills the doctor prescribed her like sweets to swallow that her death won’t bring them much joy, Dean just presses a pillow on her face until she stops breathing. Jonathan is awake for some reason and Sam wonders why his magic didn’t work on him. With Dean’s blood crusted around his mouth and Joseph’s stains on his clothes he tries again and also this time, Jonathan won’t fall asleep. He also won’t let his voice be taken away. And of course, he has to start screaming.

“I wish you didn’t do that”, Sam sighs, “I really wanted to let you live. Now we don’t have any other choice.”

Dean tears the boy apart like a beast with seven heads and seven crowns, followed by darkness. Blood sprays all over the place and Sam couldn’t be more satisfied with Dean’s hunger for vengeance. For justice. For the world to burn down and start anew.

They leave the house with Jacob, Erin, Nora and Lucy sleeping in their beds. They won’t remember a thing. Their father is gone, the brother… well, the brother is gone, too, his remains buried beside his sister Josephine whose place Jacob took. Mommy just will never wake up. In Sam’s veins the power tingles and crackles, he feels powerful, like after a very good fuck, or like right before one. Potent and full of furor, righteous anger and satisfied with the cleansing of the family Spit. 

“Can you feel them?”, Dean asks silently while they light up a fire deep in the woods of Wyoming. 

They burn their clothes and in the orange light of the flames, the eternal fire in their bodies flares up. The anti possession tattoos faded out, useless, the pink scar across Dean’t throat, the S in his arm. Sam tried to carve Dean’s name in his harm, but his demonic essence just heals it up every time he drinks from Dean. Which happens a lot. 

Sam takes a deep breath, looks up at the beautiful night sky, counting stars, greeting Mother Moon, he hums in satisfaction. 

“Yes, all three of them burn in Hell right now. It’s delicious. Wanna see?”

Dean is close, very close and he touches Sam’s face, kisses him on his still blood crusted lips and the images of the burning souls strike him like a thunderbolt. Dean shivers in ecstacy. 

“Fuck, Sammy, they’re burning. And we made them.” 

His voice trembles and Sam pulls Dean closer, nibs on his lips, his neck, his shoulder. 

“I know, I know… it’s insane. I love hearing their cries. What old Joseph did to his son Jacob… he’s confessing it over and over, I can’t stop listening to his pleas for mercy… But he will never be released.”

Sam shudders. His cock is hard since Dean killed old Joseph, but now it’s impossible anymore to ignore it. Or that Dean is raging hard himself. 

“Crowley will know we’ve killed them very soon”, Dean whispers but he doesn’t make another move away from Sam or towards him. 

“I know. But we have a moment, don’t you think?”

“We have a moment, pity Jacob later, okay?”, Dean asks. 

“Are you having a soft moment?”, Sam asks with an amused chuckle. 

“No, I just don’t get off on the thought that this pathetic mouth breather castrated his own baby son.”

Sam laughs. “Nah, me neither.”

They fuck in front of the campfire that burns their clothes, it lets their bodies glow and for a Knight of Hell and the Rightful Heir they’re almost gentle this time. Eager, rough, yes. Fast, yes. Hard, yes. But Sam can’t stop kissing Dean’s throat scar before he chokes him until Dean almost passes out and cums, high from the feeling of Sam’s strong hand around his neck, strong enough to snap it. From afar you could think it’s just two very desperate lovers who haven’t seen each other in a long time, but up close there’s the sight of golden eyes and black eyes, fangs and talons, growls and bites. There’s a hissed “Sammy, don’t stop” and there’s Sam’s deep animalistic grunts - rough and needy demands to be taken harder by his Knight. And if you listen closely,  _ very, very _ closely, you notice, it’s their way to say “I love you, brother”.

When the fire burns down and the howling in the distance announces the Hellhounds drawing near, they get up and it just takes a snap of Sam’s fingers and they’re gone. Vanished into thin air, as they’ve been never here before. 

Today, they saved a family. But it’s been 6 years too late for Josephine and Jacob, nonetheless.


End file.
